


i see oceans in your eyes

by anniebibananie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Healing, Hurt and comfort, Roadtrip, Shared Trauma and Tragedy, Smut, bed sharing, missing person, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 04:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: The Sansa Stark standing in front of him, though, looked nothing like the girl he hadn’t seen in two years. She looked sad, a little broken. She looked beautiful and like a force of nature—one withering look and she could part the sea, she could destroy your worst enemy. Like a siren singing men and women to deaths caused by their own hands.He had no fucking clue what to do with this Sansa Stark.Sansa shows up at his work with one request: help find Robb. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t seen her since recovery, that he doesn’t know how he could possibly help, that Robb would hate that she was asking him…Helping her is the least he can do. So he does.





	i see oceans in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> hi warning this is heavy. and mentions of past trauma and abuse. lots of healing and moving forward, too, though. 
> 
> huge thank you to [bullheadedbastardblacksmith](https://bullheadedbastardblacksmith.tumblr.com/) and [heartsbanes](https://heartsbanes.tumblr.com/) for helping beta read this. honestly otherwise this might not have ever gotten finished without some encouragement and people telling me i'm not crazy. 
> 
> title from scared by jeremy zucker. **[my theonsa playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3iDO9eUQJi2wVsPqNC7ErH?si=llJYil6MQZyElSwn-zprNA)**

Theon would like to make it very clear he had never had a crush on Sansa Stark. Never, in all the years of loitering at the Starks, had he looked at Robb’s younger sister and went _yes, she makes me feel butterflies._ He was too busy chasing girls his own age, older even, and he wanted things from them Sansa would have never given him. 

She was annoying, anyways. Smart, yes, pretty in a frustrating way, absolutely, but she was also always sitting on a high horse. All it took was a single look from her—eyes narrowed, head tilted a fraction to the side, hair pushed behind her shoulders—and you _knew_ she was thinking the absolute worst of you. 

Frankly, Theon had enough of that in his life. He didn’t need it from high and mighty Sansa Stark, too. 

He had never had feelings for her. Never thought that someday she would grow up to be beautiful and Theon would finally get to be a member of the Stark family officially and forever, no strings attached. 

The Sansa Stark standing in front of him, though, looked nothing like the girl he hadn’t seen in two years. She looked sad, a little broken. She looked beautiful and like a force of nature—one withering look and she could part the sea, she could destroy your worst enemy. Like a siren singing men and women to deaths caused by their own hands. 

He had no fucking clue what to do with _this_ Sansa Stark. 

* * *

“I need your help,” she said. Her voice sounded different, too. Less young, maybe. It was richer, fuller, more determined. He wouldn’t say sharp, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t soft. 

“Hello to you, too.” He knew he had no right to have an attitude with her when he was the one who had done irreparable damage to her and her family, but it felt like second nature to slip back into this side of him with her standing feet away. 

“Hello,” she started again, this time more sarcasm laced in her voice. He thought she might look a little amused, but he couldn’t tell for sure. “I need your help.” 

There were a million things running through his mind, but the biggest was _why him._ Then there were the others: with what? or how could _you_ need help? That one snagged in his mind. He couldn’t, not for the life of him, not given a million years, decipher what in the world she would have come to _him_ for help with. 

Theon had never done anything to help anyone, especially not the Starks. No, he had just helped to break them. Breaking things? Theon was good at that. Grade A tier good. 

“What in the world would you need help with?” he asked. He didn’t need to say _from me._ It was obvious in his question, and he thought it _should_ be obvious in this whole scenario. 

“Robb is missing,” she said. 

Theon felt his mouth grow dry. Vainly, stupidly, he wondered for a second what Sansa must see when she looked at him. A sad, broken sort of version of the person she once knew. But he was pretty sure all illusions of the person he once was had been blown up right around the time he almost blew _them_ up. 

He probably looked healthier than the last time he had seen her. Hair longer, skin with more color, more weight on his bones. She’d looked beautiful the last time he had seen her in a sort of way that… well, he didn’t need to think on that now. Sometimes, the past should stay in the past. 

“Missing how?” he asked. 

Sansa stepped further into the visitor’s center, coming up to the information desk where he sat. It had been a good job for him after everything. Low Pressure. He got to talk to kids and families about things he knew, manageable things, things that made him competent enough to think he might actually be worth something. 

That had been a problem for a long time, the not feeling worth much of anything. 

She rested her arms against the counter and sighed. It was a body sort of sigh, a sigh that spoke to that bone sort of tired that made everything harder because it seeped into every action. He hadn’t noticed how tired she looked until just then. “How many kinds of missing are there, Theon?” 

It was the first time he had heard her say his name in two years. He hadn’t thought it would affect him quite this much, but, as cliche as it sounded, it sort of felt as if his heart stopped for a second. 

“Two,” he said, because he had spent a lot of time thinking about this. Even more talking about it in therapy. “The kind where you didn’t mean to get lost, the kind where you did.” 

He had, of course, been the latter. He had wanted to disappear into nothing, be nothing, so that he didn’t have to exist at all. If it hadn’t been for Yara (and… in some part Sansa but that wasn’t a story for now, that was one of those things he still couldn’t seem to acknowledge) he would have happily stayed nothing. He would have kept grinding at it until he was dead, probably. 

“Robb didn’t leave me,” she said, and there was a bite to her voice. To Sansa, he wondered if missing really just meant being left on purpose or accident. 

Maybe they all had their definitions of missing, and how sad was that? None of them could escape the feeling of something being gone that was meant to be there. He wondered if maybe she was trying to say something else, something about _him_ with those words. She had been back in his life for only a minute, and he was already feeling the familiar gaze. 

And maybe it wasn’t so much that she had always looked at him from her high horse (though, as a child, she certainly had done her fair share of it). Perhaps, it was that when Sansa looked at him, he was forced to acknowledge the version of himself she had always expected to see. She had never been happy accepting he was nothing or that he couldn’t do better. 

“He went looking for someone,” she continued. She stood up straighter, perfect posture. It was easy to imagine the crown on her head, then, that had practically been there all their childhood. “He didn’t come back.” 

“Who did he go looking for?” Theon asked, voice growing tired. For two years he had been here, healing and working and doing a whole lot of nothing. He talked to Yara, had sort of made friends with a few of the locals, but mostly he was left with his own thoughts and forced to process through them. 

Having Sansa in front of him was the most excitement he’d had in months. He wasn’t sure he liked it yet, especially not if it meant what he thought it would mean. 

Her face went cold, and her voice did too. Truly ice, and it seemed like that same frozen fire was holding her body rigid. It was as if the room grew colder. As if he felt it, too. 

“Ramsay Bolton.” 

Suddenly, the ghosts from years ago were back around him standing there in the room. Coating his throat and clouding his head. Had he really thought he could ever escape him? Not really. More surprising was that when he looked at Sansa, it seemed like there were ghosts standing next to her, too. He really didn’t know this woman at all. 

“I can close early,” he said. “Want to come back to mine?” 

She nodded. It was stilted and awkward, but he hadn’t expected anything else.

* * *

His apartment wasn’t anything to write home about. It was small—a single bedroom with minimal decorations. Sometimes, Theon thought he was scared to set down roots. The only place he’d ever really considered home before was Winterfell, and he knew how well that had turned out. 

“Can I have water?” she asked. They were the first words either of them had spoken since she got into his car and let him drive them back to his place. 

“Yeah, I’ll…” he motioned behind him toward the kitchen and went to the cabinet that carried a whole shelf of mugs. He took the largest one, a clunky thing in the shape of an octopus Yara had given him as a gag gift, and filled it from the tap. 

When he turned around, he was surprised to find she had followed him. She took it gratefully, the barest glimpse of a smile on her face as she eyed the mug he had chosen, and drank. 

“This is weird,” she said when she was finished, and something about it unlocked the pressure in his chest. 

He laughed, short and sort of strange sounding, but a laugh all the same. He nodded. “Yeah, it’s weird.” He ran a hand through his hair, probably just making it messier and wilder. “We could order food, maybe? And you can tell me what this is all about?” 

For a second when she smiled back at him, he could pretend the last few years were melted off of them and they were back in the Winterfell kitchen. Though, Sansa hadn’t smiled at him much like that back then, so it was a false memory. Still, a sweet inflection of memory all the same. 

The light of her smile dimmed a little, and he felt his fingers twitch at his sides. 

She cleared her throat. “Bad news is always better on a full stomach.” 

As they waited for their food, the tension in the room was thick and awkward. They attempted to ease it with easy talk. They exchanged some pleasantries, simple small talk that didn’t seem to fit them right. 

_What do you do now?_ She had asked. _I work at the Pyke Visitor’s Center,_ he responded as if she didn’t know, hadn’t just shown up there. 

_How’s Arya? Rickon? Bran?_ Her head bobbed, then. _Good. Alright._

Then, some more silence. The food came, and it was only as they laid out all the take-out containers on his coffee table and were sitting on opposite sides of it that the tension properly dissipated. She sat with her long red hair pulled into a ponytail, back against his couch and legs crossed in front, while he was on the other side trying to stretch out his legs without accidentally hitting her and bringing a physical touch she might not want. 

“This is really good,” she said for the second time, hand covering her mouth like the proper lady she had always been. “It’s right down the street?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, my true saving grace when I don’t feel like cooking. Yara will come over all the time and pick it up, even when I tell her I’m cooking.”

“So, she’s still feisty, then?” Sansa asked. 

“Always has been, always will be,” Theon answered. He knew there was probably a fond smile on his face, the one that seemed to be reserved only for Yara. 

Her feist was pretty much why he was still alive at all, why _Theon Greyjoy_ still existed. She had picked him up from the rubble and helped wrap him back up, fill him with who _he_ wanted to be instead of what everyone had told him to. _You’re starting over, baby brother,_ she had said, voice gruff but not unkind. _You get to decide who you are, don’t fucking wear anybody else’s clothes this time._

He had thought about the phrasing of that a long time, the sort of time you only really get in rehab. Time roped off with a flashing neon sign saying _Think About All The Shit That Got You Here._ Theon was pretty sure he had always been there, him, at the core of himself, but he’d been slipping into different coats his whole life. He had tried to be all Stark, tried to be everything _not_ Stark, tried to be just … nothing. All of it in search of a feeling he had craved more than anything (acceptance, he was pretty sure. Understanding, comfort, though too). 

“Why are you here, Sansa?” he asked again. Softer than he ever would have spoken to her in his previous life. 

For a minute she picked at her food, took a sip of water, and avoided the question. Then, she sighed. “Robb is missing.” 

“Looking for…” He had to take a breath before saying the name, a fear creeping over him that saying it alone somehow gave him enough power to appear in the room. “Ramsay. Why was he looking for Ramsay?” 

“It’s a long story,” she said. 

Theon could tell ‘long story’ seemed to mean ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. “Condensed version?” he tried. 

“He did something bad. To me,” she said. 

Theon’s mind went to the worst places, mostly because he had spent years with Ramsay. He was a poison, the worst sort, and Theon knew Ramsay had a dead, cold, black soul. There was no good in him. Not a single drop. 

“Robb went after him?” Theon asked because of _course_ Robb Stark went after a person who hurt his family. 

“He was trying to gather information and take him down,” Sansa explained. “Jon was helping, too, and I had given them everything I knew, but then Robb and Jon went off, and…” She blew out a breath, letting it roll slowly out of her mouth. 

“They haven’t showed back up?” 

She shook her head no. 

“What about the police? Have you tried them?” Mostly, Theon was thinking he was the least qualified person in the world for this. And the last thing his fragile ego needed was to let another Stark down beyond measure. 

“The police aren’t doing anything about it.” 

“He’s white and rich. Aren’t those the sort of people the police _do_ do something about?” he asked. 

Sansa sighed, and it sounded void of energy. It was clear she had thought about this herself. “Not when your dad tried to take the whole police department down for corruption. Turns out they just call a missing kid justice, then.” 

“I didn’t…” he trailed off because it was obvious he wouldn’t know about any of this. He had seen the obituary, though, cut out of the newspaper by Yara and left on the counter for him. He had still been living with her, then, and he remembered how she had stayed around all day, watching to make sure he wouldn’t slip back into old habits. 

It made sense, though. Ned Stark would have gone down doing something stupid and righteous. That was something Theon had always liked about him. He did the right thing, damn the consequences. Theon barely knew _how_ to find the right thing. 

Sansa across from him, though? Beautiful, hard to reach, and asking for his help? It was like someone had plopped the right thing in front of his eyes and told him it was unavoidable. 

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s find him.” 

For a beat, her eyes searched him. He didn’t know what she could possibly find. Then, she picked up her octopus mug and held it out as if to cheers. He grabbed his soda and did the same. 

* * *

“This is the plan,” Sansa said from the passenger seat, an honest-to-drowned-god portfolio filled with bits of newspapers and maps and hand-written notes in her lap. She had a map in front or her now with several spots circled in a felt red pen.

Theon could tell even with only a sideways look that most of the scrawled notes were by Robb’s hand. 

“Just tell me where to go,” he said. If it was the two of them pre-Theon Ruining His Life with the Starks (he was working on a pithier title, but the one time he called it The Great Disaster Yara had glared at him so sharply he had to leave the room), he might have added some sort of pet name at the end of it. 

He was well aware that him and This Version of Sansa Stark I Don’t Recognize were not on such familiar terms. 

“The _plan_ ,” she continued, “is to follow the track Robb first set out on with Jon, as far as we know anyways, and hope we catch up to them. Or find Ramsay.” 

Theon was very determinedly _not_ thinking about what it would be like to see Ramsay again. Ideally, they would come nowhere near the possibility. Ideally, they’d find Robb and Jon safe and sound and Theon could go back to his easy life where he tried to not think about how he had disappointed the only people who cared about him (well, he had Yara now. He would never discount Yara). 

“Why don’t we go talk to Umber?” Theon asked, keeping his gaze forward. He didn’t want to mess with the clearly laid out plan Sansa must have been mulling over for days, maybe weeks, now. 

“Umber?” she asked, voice rising in pitch. “What do you mean?” 

“Jon Umber,” he said. His hands clenched tighter on the wheel. “He’s pretty much one of the only people to make it out of Ramsay’s clutches without being, well…” 

“Dead,” she finished for him. He could feel her watching the side of his face intently. “You’re not dead.” 

“I wasn’t really…” He sighed. He didn’t know how to explain that mostly, he had been worth a laugh so he could get cheaper drugs. He wasn’t _trusted_ with anything. Mostly, he was a sad sack junkie that Ramsay thought was about as good as the dirt on his shoe. Perhaps not good enough to lick it off, really. 

Just as he got up the nerve to turn his eyes to hers she was turning her gaze to the open road in front of them. “Did my dad ever let you in his office?” she asked. 

Theon swallowed. “A few times.” 

“He had that big wall, you know, with the leads and strings and colored push pins. He was so old-fashioned that way, so dedicated to his work. I remember him sitting us down once just to explain how it all worked. His whole process and all that.” 

Theon could remember that, actually. Ned Stark’s office was large and classic, lots of old wood and bookshelves. There was a whole wall that had become a cork board at some point. Ned wasn’t good at leaving his work at the police station. His office was a danger zone for potential gruesome images or at times evidence, so they were all pretty much barred from it unless given express permission otherwise. 

“Yeah. I remember.” He spared a glance to his side, and she was still determinedly looking forward. He felt like he could see the tense muscles running underneath her skin, keeping her composed and sharp. There was more story, and he would wait for her to tell it to him. No rush. 

“At some point Robb must have picked up doing it too. Though, he never bothered to show me. I think he started the day he found out about what happened with me, but I think it had been building honestly with all the stuff that happened with you…” She sighed. “I didn’t know he left. He told me him and Jon were going camping. I found out two days later when I went to check on his apartment.” 

“Why wouldn’t he tell you what he was planning?” Theon asked. 

“He didn’t want me to know. He didn’t want me to come along. Take your pick.” She picked at her bottom lip with her fingers, a nervous habit Theon didn’t remember. 

“I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want apologies,” she snapped. Her hands went back to her lap and the map that laid there. 

“Good, it’s not for you,” he replied, trying to break the tension but it was like breaking apart a glacier with a toothpick. “I’m sorry I did that to him. That I made him start worrying, seeking revenge, or whatever you’d call it.” 

“That’s who he _is_ ,” she said with an aggravated laugh. 

“Yeah.” Theon laughed though he wasn’t sure he had a right to it. “He starts thinking he could have done something to save everyone around him.” 

_It wasn’t his fault. Never any of your fault. Not for what happened to me, anyways. I was broken, still am, cracked right down the middle, and there was nothing he could have done to sew me up. He held me together for most of his life, and it must have been exhausting. I can’t believe he put up with it for so long._

He took a deep breath, trying to let it fill his lungs, as he spewed the thought inside his own head to keep it from spiraling out of his mouth. 

“Well, maybe we can try to save him,” Sansa said softly. She tilted her body and let her head fall to the glass window. “Let’s go to Umber.” 

He hit the blinker, turning right back into Pyke. “To Umber, then.” 

* * *

It didn’t take long for them to come to the Umber Casino and Hotel off on the East border of Pyke. At one point it had been a legitimate business, curated by Jon Umber Senior to be a genuine experience for vacation or sport. Now it mostly felt like a seedy front for other things, and usually you could sort of tell it by the crowd. 

Theon parked the car and turned it off, the sound of the engine dying around them. His eyes darted between the front of the building where a group of older men were smoking and Sansa, looking like a dream in his beat up car. 

“Do you have… like a sweatshirt or something?” he asked. 

Her nose scrunched up. “What does that mean?” 

He paused, unsure how to say this without seeming rude or misogynistic or gross. “You’re sort of too pretty for this place, and I’m worried—”

She rolled her eyes and pulled at the door handle, already half out by the time she spoke. “That was your first mistake. Don’t bother worrying about me.” 

The car door slammed, and he was left feeling stupid. Whatever, that was just most of his life. Her red hair was rushing behind her as she walked with determined steps, and he jumped out of the car and jogged to catch up. The talk of the group of men by the door stopped as they approached, and Theon pushed a little closer into Sansa as they entered. 

“Come on,” he said, motioning with his head as she took in the rows of shiny, sparkling machines and drunk people. The music was blaring, so he wasn’t sure she would be able to hear that well, but she followed behind as they went toward the back. 

They slipped behind a curtain and came to a door guarded by a larger man. If Theon hadn’t lived this for a time, he would have felt as if it was entirely pulled from a cheesy movie. “Tell him Reek is here to see him.” 

The guy nodded once and disappeared behind the door. 

“Reek?” Sansa asked, her voice close to his ear. 

“Yeah,” he croaked out, not wanting to fall down that rabbit hole. “Yeah.” 

She didn’t question further, and they didn’t have to wait long before the guard was coming back and ushering them through the doorway. They walked down a long hallway, the light flickering and dim, and came out to a small office. Umber sat at the desk, looking as square and bearded as he always had. 

“What in the fucking hell are you doing here, Reek?” he asked, amusement playing at his features as he leaned forward on the desk. He motioned to the guard, who left and closed the door behind him. His eyes darted to Sansa. “And with a girl looking like that?” 

Her eyes narrowed. “We need information.” 

He leaned back in his chair, looking at her down the line of his nose. “Care to tell me with what?” 

“Ramsay,” Theon said, trying to keep his voice as straight and strong as he could manage. Umber’s lips twisted in amusement, and Theon felt his stomach roll. “We need to find him. I know you still keep in contact.” 

Umber turned his head to the side. “Why would you want to find that fucking asshole?” 

“Why do specifics matter?” Sansa asked. She arched a brow, and Theon could see the storm within her again. How she could look more like an impending hurricane than a human woman, and how you could find yourself happy to drown in her wake. “Either you know something, and you’re useful to us, or you don’t and we can be done with this whole exchange.” 

Umber seemed amused by this, too, and Theon had the urge suddenly to punch the expression off his face. He was calmer now, able to tamp down that fury that used to get him in trouble, but some days it mostly felt as if it was still a current underneath his skin. He was seconds away from bloodying his knuckles again and wearing it the way he used to—as much part of his appearance as the color of his eyes. 

For a moment longer Umber seemed to be holding his cards, staring them down, and then he fell. He was a balloon with a slight leak, deflating mostly from the cold. “What are you going to do to the bastard when you find him?” 

“Does it matter?” Sansa replied. Her shoulders looked like icebergs. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore.” 

Theon tried to keep himself from whipping his eyes toward her. He looked out of the corner of his eye instead. What _did_ Sansa plan on doing once they had found him? Theon had hoped the plan was to find Robb and Jon and forget anything else, but this looked like a woman on a revenge path. More like Arya when she had a ploy to take someone else out than Sansa. 

“He’s been leeching off my business since I left,” Umber said. He clasped his hands together on the desk and broadened his shoulders to look wider. “If I give you information on where you could find him, I need assurance that I won’t have to worry about him _ever_ again.” 

“You won’t.” Sansa said it as sure as her own name. 

Umber nodded, barely looking over at Theon. Then he reached toward his drawer and pulled out a file which he dropped on the desk with a thunk. “He never stays in one place long. He can be in and out within hours, leaving no trace. He trails his money through places like mine, so that he’s no more than a ghost.” 

Ghost. That Theon could understand better than any of the other ideas. 

“Predicting where he’ll be next is…” Umber let out a low whistle, feeding into his own dramatics. “Not impossible, though. This is all I have on him. You can have it.” 

Theon stepped forward to grab it seeing as he was feeling particularly useless, but when he put his hand around the thick file Umber wrapped his fingers around his wrist. He met his eyes, trying to remember he was _Theon Greyjoy_ (for some reason it sounded a lot like Yara saying it), and he would not be afraid. 

“Want a hit?” Umber asked in a whisper, nodding to some baggies Theon hadn’t noticed until just now. “For old time’s sake, on the house.” 

His eyes were trained on the white powder. That was the thing about addiction. You didn’t really get _over_ it, you just got further from it. The feeling, the craving, it dulled but it was still sitting and waiting to pounce. It was so easy to sniff or inject or smoke something and then, _boom_ you felt a little better. So much harder to walk away and try to make yourself feel better without it. 

A hand found his own, the one not currently captive by Umber’s palm, and when he turned to look he saw Sansa watching him with… eyes that were hard to read. Not pitying, necessarily. They were understanding, soft, coaxing him away. She shook her head no, just the tiniest bit, and it was the easiest thing to turn back to Umber. 

“Just the file, thanks.” He picked it up and held it tightly between his fingers. “Hopefully I won’t see you around.” 

“Feeling’s mutual,” Umber muttered. Then he turned his eyes to Sansa. “ _You_ however, are welcome whenever you want. Just kill the fucker first.” 

Sansa tugged him from the room, her hand still warm in his, and Theon knew everything about this moment was inappropriate beyond belief, but there was something about the touch that felt capable of sneaking right through his cracks and burrowing itself deep in his chest. 

Sansa Stark had only been back in his life for less than a day, and she was already ruining him. He wasn’t sure he really minded all that much. 

When they were down the hall, through the casino, and back out in the now empty front, she finally stopped and turned toward him. Her hand didn’t leave his, and she released a rush of breath. The ice melted away, and he saw the warmth in her eyes. 

“You okay?” she asked. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to say anything, so he nodded. “Good. We got the file.” 

He nodded again, finally able to clear his throat. “We did. Might have exhausted too much of the day to go anywhere else, though. Should we look through our new evidence?” 

“Anywhere we can do that over alcohol?” she asked. “Or, shit, that was insensitive.” 

“No,” he said with a shake of his head, “you’re fine. I know just the place.” 

They walked back to the car, and Sansa kept holding his hand until they got to its side, and Theon did not overthink it. Not one bit. 

* * *

So, for the sake of context, Theon thought there was some background that might be at least a little _helpful._ He’d gotten it down to a science, the telling of it, through rehab and therapy and support groups. It sort of went like this. 

For about 17 years of his life Theon was fine. His dad sucked, and his family life was in shambles, but he had the Starks. Robb was his best friend, and while Catelyn mostly tolerated him, Ned seemed to give the support Theon had always hoped for. He acted like a proper father even when he didn’t have to. Cheered at their ball games for all three of them—Robb, Jon, and Theon. Gave them advice. Extra gas money when it was tight (for Theon it was always tight, and for a long time he was _grateful_ for just the hand-me-downs and random twenty dollar bills and the open invitation to dinners). 

Most days, Theon was pretty sure he would have never made it without the Starks for showing him, at the very least, that he could be loved. 

Theon thought life started slipping right around the time he realized there was no way for him to go to college, and Robb would be leaving him. Not to say it was Robb’s fault because it most certainly wasn’t, but the Starks were his lifeline. Resentment, and truthfully a gnawing sort of emptiness, built as he faced the fact that he would be left with his shitty, alcoholic dad and a decaying bar. That was life now. 

So, the drinks at the bar became more alluring than they should have. He stopped hanging with Robb quite as much because Robb was _good._ Robb would tell him something—say the exact right words because he _always_ knew the exact right thing—and Theon would be better for him. But Robb was leaving. 

_So_ drinks. Then drugs. Then anything to feel a semblance of, well, Theon wasn’t sure what it was exactly he was chasing. The perfect high? The perfect feeling of nothing—no sadness, no longing? 

By the time Robb left for college, Theon was already getting good at becoming a shell of himself. He’d put more shit in his body than he knew how to name. It was an expensive habit, though, and if there’s one thing Theon had never had much of, it was money. 

The next bit was hard for two reasons, both of which being memory. Really, there were a lot of bits he _didn’t_ remember and a lot more he wished he didn’t because it hurt too much. An open wound still. The years he was in a haze, he truly was in a _haze_. His memory was spotty and unreliable, and the things he could hold onto were dirty, harsh, _sad_. 

He knew, though, that in his darkest spot he went to the Starks’ house in the dead of night. He knew he used the spare key underneath the back mat to break in, and he knew he took two laptops, Robb’s one-of-a-kind, signed, collectible baseball glove, and an emergency wad of cash from below the kitchen sink behind the bleach. 

There were specifics Theon found harder to hold onto. He couldn’t really remember how he _got_ there for one, and how long it took him to gather all of these things was a mystery to him. But he would remember the way the family portrait above the fireplace had haunted him until he was a shivering, crying mess that Yara quite physically pulled out of an alley behind the bar. 

He would remember Sansa, and the fact that… No, not yet. He didn’t want to hold onto that quite yet.

* * *

“I’ve never actually _been_ here before,” Sansa said as her eyes wandered the place. 

It was pretty dead since it was the middle of the week, but that was better for them anyways. They were in a corner booth, giving them plenty of space to spread out all their things. Yara was behind the bar as she got them some drinks, and when she came back she set them down with a thump. 

“What are you doing here?” Yara asked in a way Theon knew meant she had been waiting to do since the second the two of them wandered in. 

Sansa looked between her and Theon before setting her gaze on Yara and tilting her head. “Theon is helping me with something.” 

Yara hummed, didn’t say anything. 

“The bar looks nice,” Sansa said. 

“It’s a shit hole,” Yara replied. 

Sansa smirked, unable to help it. “A nice shit hole.” 

Yara barked out a laugh. “Yeah. Be careful with him, yeah? First drink is on the house.” She tapped the table before wandering back over to the bar, laughing with some regular. 

Theon reached for his water and watched Sansa take a breath and a drink. It wasn’t that Yara didn’t _like_ Sansa, they’d met on a few occasions and actually gotten along quite well, but Yara had seen Theon at his absolute worst. It was hard to not feel protective, he assumed, especially around someone who brought up so much of his past. 

The thing about the past, though, was that not all of it was bad. A lot of it was _great._ The summers Ned would let him and Jon pile in the car for beach weekends along with everyone else or Robb helping him with his math homework at their dinner table. The movie nights and just… being there. Part of it all. 

Even if Theon could never see any of them ever again, he knew he would still love them with too much of himself. They were his family, no matter what he had done or who he had become. Those memories were something no one could take from him. 

Theon was pretty sure he could never look at Sansa Stark and think there was anything _bad_ about being with her. Even if it was easier for him to remember the shit, even if he knew he had to be better around her, _she_ was still good. Better than he deserved, but that had always been the case. 

It was all so goddamn complicated, and it was hurting his brain to think about it. 

“How bad was it Theon?” she asked, pushing her straw around her drink and watching it swirl the grenadine in. 

“It got worse,” he said, thinking about that last night he saw her before… well, everything that happened since. “Then it got better.” 

She nodded, short and sharp and unsure. When she looked up, he tried to give her a smile as sad as it may have looked. 

“I’ve missed you guys,” he said honestly. She bit her lip, trying to keep something at bay it seemed. He cleared his throat, unable to sit in this moment for much longer, and turned his eyes to the papers in front of them. “Let’s get to work, yeah?”

* * *

Here was what they knew: 

Ramsay really didn’t stay anywhere long enough for them to figure out a pattern. 

The last time he had been anywhere was North near the Dreadfort, but Sansa knew Robb and Jon had traveled south. 

He had been acquiring businesses near King’s Landing, making them think he would be somewhere near there. 

This was going to take them longer than Sansa would have much liked and Theon knew if he could handle. 

Sansa Stark was beautiful looking at a map, circling it with a red felt pen (that one maybe only Theon knew, but he thought it was at least worth mentioning). 

This was complicated. And dangerous. There was absolutely no way to talk Sansa out of it, and Theon would have never dared try. 

* * *

Sansa was sitting on his bed in pajama pants and an oversized shirt, her hair thrown up into a loose bun. She looked casually gorgeous in the way supermodels could wear an actual garbage bag and make it into a look. It was sort of frustrating. Whatever. 

“Can you take off work?” she asked. She was sitting cross-legged, but she twisted now to hug one leg to her chest and rest her chin on her knee. “We’re going to be gone for at least a week.” 

Theon thought it was sort of funny that she was asking _now_ when she had practically shown up at his job and told him he was going to help her. You weren’t given a lot of opportunities in life to atone for your sins, not properly, and Theon thought it would be pretty ridiculous for him not to take this one. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Duncan can cover for me. I’ll make sure to bring him back fancy beer from wherever we end up, and he’ll be fine.” 

She chewed on her cheek, her lips twisting in a cute, delicate sort of way as she did, and Theon waited. Then she looked up through her eyelashes at him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want your bed back?” 

“Take the bed,” he said, shaking his head no. His couch wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, but it was fine. No way would he ever force _Sansa_ to sleep on it. “You need the beauty sleep. We’re on the road tomorrow.” 

She rolled her eyes. “As if I need the beauty rest.” 

“Oh, don’t I know it, darling.” He couldn’t help the way it rolled off his tongue, and for a beat he worried he had taken liberties he was no longer allowed, but then she laughed and rolled her eyes again. 

“Gods, haven’t missed _that_.” 

His lips tilted up into a slight smirk. “If you decide you have…” He wiggled his eyebrows, the false bravado falling away to laughter as she threw a pillow at him. 

“Go to sleep on the couch. I don’t even feel bad about it anymore.” 

He paused in the doorway by the light switch as she got under the covers. “Night, Sansa.” 

She hummed into the darkness as he flipped the lights off. “Night.” 

* * *

Theon woke up to the fluttering of sunlight through the window and the distant rumble of Yara and Sansa speaking near the front door. Mostly, he knew it had to be Yara and Sansa because no one else could possibly even _be_ in his apartment. 

He threw on a shirt, ruffled a hand through his hair, though it was doubtful to be helpful at all, and made his way toward the frontway. Yara was there in a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, hair thrown into a lazy ponytail. Sansa had clearly already gotten ready for the day, and he wondered how he hadn’t heard her step around him when she had to walk through the kitchen and living room space to get _here_. 

“It’ll be fine,” Sansa said to Yara, nodding in a way that made it clear she really thought it was true. 

“The closer he gets…” 

“Trust me,” Sansa said, voice hardening. “I know.” 

Her voice reminded Theon of the magic shell chocolate they used to put on their sundaes as kids. It was something Theon never would have had at his own home, an extraneous purchase, but it was always at the Starks. It was liquid chocolate, but as soon as it was on top of the ice cream and the cold touched it the chocolate formed a hard shell. 

Sansa’s voice reminded him of it now. Soft and warm and flowing until the situation demanded she be something else. Then she would harden and crack the second she needed to.

“Good morning,” he said, rapping his knuckles against the wall to make his presence impossibly clear. “Having a nice chat, are we?” 

“Something like that,” Yara trailed off, looking between the two. She turned back to Sansa, raising a brow, and held out her arm. 

For a beat Sansa stared at the flesh of Yara’s forearm as if she really couldn’t tell what move she would make, and then she grabbed it back. Sometimes Theon was struck by how powerful all the women around him were, how he was here mostly to help prop them up and keep them safe the little he could, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had spent too long in life thinking he was better than everyone around him, and it had done nothing but isolate him—from who he wanted to be, from the people he wanted to keep close. 

“We should get going,” Theon said to Sansa. She nodded in agreement. Theon turned his eyes to his sister. “I’ll be gone maybe a week. It shouldn’t be too much longer, but I’ll keep you updated.”

Yara nodded, face unreadable, as she went and grabbed her tote and turned away from them. “Don’t get caught, kids.” She waved over her shoulder, and that was that. 

“She say anything mean?” he asked when the front door had finally closed. 

“She was… Yara.” Sansa gave him a small smile that turned to a laugh. “Can you go get dressed? I’ve been waiting for you so we could go.” 

“What? This isn’t a look?” he asked, arms thrown to the sides as he twirled. 

She laughed and pushed his back, trying to angle him toward the hall. 

* * *

They were driving for at least four or five hours before the realization struck Theon, and then he couldn’t seem to stop the near giggles that erupted from his lips. 

“What?” Sansa asked, looking up from the map she was eyeing again as if the edges weren’t becoming worn. As if she couldn’t probably draw it again herself from memory alone. He kept laughing, and her cheeks were growing pinker. “Theon. _What?_ ”

“If you think about it…” he trailed off, letting the suspense build because she was getting huffy and it was sort of fun to forget they were hunting down a drug lord and crime boss in search of Sansa’s brother and Theon’s once best friend. “This is basically just a road trip.” 

“That’s…” Sansa’s lips pursed, “not really true. Or funny.” 

“We’re in a car. There are snacks.” 

“That doesn’t constitute a road trip, Theon!” she threw her hands up to the side, some of the papers on her lap falling to the floor of the car though she didn’t bother to look at them. She was twisting her body toward him, leaning her back against the door. “A road trip has a _vibe,_ an _aesthetic_.” 

“Avenging the fallen? That's definitely an aesthetic.” 

“Yeah, like an action movie not a _road trip_ ,” Sansa said. “Road trips are fun. They’re lighthearted. You usually have a clear and set destination in sight.” 

“Pretty sure a road trip is just a trip on a road, but what do I know.”

“Yeah, what do you know,” she replied, rolling her eyes. It wasn’t actually angry, though. It mostly seemed amused. 

* * *

They didn’t get much of anywhere before they were pulling into a motel with only a handful of cars out front. If they were smarter they would have stopped an hour earlier when they were by a main stretch of road, stay somewhere at least a little nicer, but Sansa was itching to get further and Theon hadn’t wanted to suggest it. 

It would be cheaper, at least. Theon hadn’t thought much about the cost of everything, and while he had money squirreled away in the last year of working and doing little else, he certainly didn’t have the extra income to throw away on five star hotels or extravagance. 

The motel would have to do. 

Sansa threw her credit card down before he could even reach for his wallet, and when he suggested she might not be comfortable in the same room she rolled her eyes and signed the bill. He went back out to the car and grabbed her duffel, carrying both his and her bag to the door before she could complain. 

The room certainly wasn’t anything beautiful, but Theon had slept in far worse. Maybe Sansa hadn’t, but she didn’t seem to be complaining. She threw her bag onto the bed closest to the bathroom after taking it back from him and sat on the edge of the mattress half a minute later. 

“I’m tired,” she said. 

Theon never would have let the thought anywhere but his head, but he thought she looked it, too. Her face lacked color everywhere except around her eyes, which were dark. Body antsy, hair haphazard. 

“You don’t want to eat anything first?” he asked. They hadn’t done much more than snack. 

She shook her head. “Not right now. I can’t stomach it.” 

“Okay.” He nodded.

She went and turned the lights out, and in the shrouded darkness he thought maybe he could see her unzip her pants, but he didn’t stay looking. He kicked off his own shoes and fell into bed, feeling his own achy body crave sleep. 

Finally, the whole room fell silent. 

“Would you have ever come back?” Sansa asked. Theon had sort of thought she was already asleep. 

He turned onto his side, curling his body closer to her in the dark though there was a space between their beds. There was a soft rustle from her side, and he wondered if she was doing the same. 

“What do you mean?” His voice seemed barely more than a whisper. 

“If I didn’t barrel into your life. Would you have ever come back?” 

Truthfully, Theon had never much considered they would _want_ him back in any regard. He had gotten the distinct impression they were all still pretty angry at him, and they had the right to be. He had stolen thousands of dollars. Worse yet, he had broken a trust. Theon wasn’t sure you could easily fix that, or if it was fixable at all. 

Maybe they weren’t ready for him to come back yet, the anger still there, but Theon could understand the desire to at least get to turn _away_ the apology. How that was a step in the process toward reparation, too. 

He had sent apology letters when he was in rehab. It had been a cheat, really, since he knew it was part of the steps to make direct apology, to _directly_ stand up to your mistakes. He hadn’t felt ready. He hadn’t known if _they_ were ready (or if they’d ever be), so he had thought staying out of their lives might be apology enough. 

Theon still had the letter Bran had written him in return, and he could practically read the words aloud from memory alone. In some ways, Theon thought Bran might have been the most hurt by what he had done. Robb was angry, and Ned was disappointed, and Catelyn probably felt assured in her previous thoughts on his character, but Bran had been hurt. 

There had been years of projects on that computer. It had been his, and there had been times Bran would sit down and tell Theon about all the websites and games he was creating. The programming he would stay up late into the night to do. 

Theon had needed to steal it from his bedside. What a betrayal it must have felt like. As if he’d looked at all of Bran’s hard work, his _passion_ , and thought his quick fix was more important. That thought exactly hadn’t crossed his mind as he did it, but it wasn’t far from the truth of it.

The letter had said a lot of things, long and winding and articulate, but Theon remembered the last two sentences best of all: _You can be a good man, Theon. You just have to try._

“Would you have wanted me to?” he asked, unable to vocalize any of that inner turmoil. 

There was a pause. No answer. Then her breathing evened out, and Theon was sure she was asleep. 

* * *

Okay, so here’s the thing. Theon may or may not have been entirely honest. He had never had a _crush_ on Sansa Stark. He had never pined away through his teenage years and thought about what it would be like to push hair behind her ear or hold her hand. 

But there was a single night (and consequently most of the ones that followed). 

There was the night he snuck into the Stark home trying to find things he could steal, his darkest moment, the night that came and went in waves of memory. Some things crystal clear. Others a foggy mess. 

The thing he remembered perhaps the most about all of it was _her._ He had been in the kitchen, just having grabbed the wad of cash from behind the bleach below the sink, and he turned to stare at that family portrait that still haunted his nightmares now. Then, coming from down the hallway, had been Sansa. 

“Theon,” she said still bleary and soft from sleep. “What’re you…” Her eyes darted to the collection of things in his hands, and her words died on her lips. “Follow me,” she said. 

So, he did. He went to her room with her, and she closed the door behind him. She went to her mattress and sat down, reaching underneath the bed for a shoebox. 

“Give me the glove,” she told him, holding out a hand. 

“Sansa, I’m…” He wished there was a word that was more than sorry. Something like _I am a disgrace of a human being and I can’t bear to look at you and I wish I could erase my whole existence from all of your lives._

“Give it to me,” she said, voice malleable but near steel. He handed it to her, and she handed the shoebox right back. “There’s cash in that. Maybe not quite as much as this glove, but you know Robb will miss it. Someday, I think you’ll be glad you don’t have to apologize for it.” 

His throat was dry. His hand was twitching at his side because he needed a hit, and his brow was sweaty, and he probably looked and smelled like death. He closed his eyes tight and wished that when he opened them none of this had happened. 

When his lids lifted, all he saw was Sansa Stark looking like some sort of angel. One of salvation or revenge, he wasn’t quite sure yet. 

“Thanks,” he croaked out. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken aloud to someone. “I should…” 

She fell back into the bed, leaving the blankets open. “Theon…” she trailed off, watching him from her place laid down and hair spilled around her like fire. There was something innocent, nearly childlike, about the invitation. “Stay for a minute.” 

His mouth opened and closed. He didn’t know what to say. She raised a brow, and he couldn’t think how to back out of this, so he set down the things and crawled into bed with her. He didn’t reach to her, didn’t think it his place, but she scooted close enough they could see each other’s eyes in the half-darkness. 

“When you’re done being lost,” she whispered, “and you remember you’re Theon Greyjoy… maybe you could come home.” 

He remembered wanting to cry then, but he was so dehydrated it was physically impossible. He wasn’t exactly feeding or hydrating the way he was meant to, then. All he could think about was the white of her sheets, and the way he had sweat and dirt caked into every part of him and there was no way he left this bed without leaving this scene marred from his filth. 

“I…” He didn’t know what to say to that. 

“I know,” she said, though he didn’t know how she could. She reached out a hand and curled it around his frail wrist. For a few minutes they stayed like that… breathing. 

Then she fell asleep, her delicate hand falling away from his skin, and he stood up to leave. He grabbed the laptops, the box, and the wad of cash. 

Later, he would open that box and find that to get to all the cash she had hidden away he had to rifle through a stack of photographs. He would still sell the laptops, and he would still use the cash, and he used all of if to get so high he lost weeks of his life, but when he finally ran out of money and found himself in the alley behind Yara’s bar _finally finally finally_ the pictures were still in a pocket of his threadbare coat. 

So, maybe Theon had lied a little. He had never really had much of a crush on Sansa Stark, but he wasn’t sure words like crush mattered in the least when someone had honest to Drowned God _saved_ you. When they looked at you, a broken, dirty mess not worthy of being called human, and seemed to pick out the one last thread that meant something. 

Theon wouldn’t have made it without Sansa. He didn’t know how you could stop yourself from being in love with a person who pulled you from the depths and breathed life back into you. He wouldn’t even think of it to try. 

* * *

The next morning Sansa was finally hungry. They threw their things into the car and walked over to the diner. Three pancakes in, Sansa looked at him with more energized, expressive eyes. 

“You already know the answer,” she began, reaching toward his plate to grab a piece of bacon. 

He let her take it without complaint. “What?” 

“If I would have wanted you to come back,” she continued, clearly trying to keep this conversation from growing too heavy. She was reaching for more food and downing coffee, and only catching his gaze in brief glimpses. “That night you were in my bed.” 

He thought it was strange she didn’t call it _the night you stole from my family._

He nodded, thinking over the words he had turned over so many times in his head he thought he could pull them up faster than any fact about himself. _When you’re done being lost, and you remember you’re Theon Greyjoy, maybe you could come home._

“I wasn’t sure you remembered.” He looked up through his fallen hair to see her smiling in amusement back at him. 

“How often do you think I have boys going through withdrawal in my bed exactly?” 

He laughed, and her smile stretched a little wider. 

“And why didn’t you turn me in then?” he asked. “Forced me into the car and to the hospital or…” 

She shook her head, first slow before speeding up and then… stopping. She looked at him with a steely seriousness that kept him still, too. “I’m not going to try to save anyone who doesn’t want to be saved,” she said. “I don’t have the energy, and I’ve wasted my energy on people who don’t deserve it or don’t appreciate it for too long. I’m tired. And I’m done.” 

He paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He could taste the metallic flavor of his blood, and he reached forward for a drink of water to wash it down. 

“I would have come back.” 

She looked up from her fourth pancake and raised a brow. 

“I’ve just been trying to find a good way.”

She hummed, didn’t say much else. He went back to his omelet. 

* * *

Sansa was driving for a change, looking perfectly at ease and in control, when something soft began on the radio and she squealed. 

“Shit!” She dove for the volume knob and turned it all the way up. “But I refuse to let you gooo,” she jumped in with her voice that sounded like bells. 

“Sansa.” Theon eyes here, brows raised. “You’re joking.” 

She turned with a smirk. “Spoil sport,” she yelled over the music before turning around and continuing her belting. “I don’t mind ‘cause you mean that much to me… Come _on,_ Theon! Now is the time. Don’t pretend you don’t remember singing The Temptations on every Stark road trip.” 

“So, you’re admitting this is a road trip?” he teased. 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t comment back. The music built up for a second, and he didn’t really know how to _do_ this anymore, but then what was there to do? He was allowed to enjoy himself. He was allowed to be in the moment, and when he saw her smiling face he couldn’t help but join in. 

“Ain’t too proud to beg and you know it, Please don’t leave me girl…”

Sansa whipped her hair back and forth, hands still steady on the wheel, as they crooned together. Theon rested one of his feet up on the dashboard, leaning back into the chair. 

Theon kept singing, though his voice wasn’t quite as on key as Sansa’s, but it didn’t matter. He was feeling the music. He rolled the window down halfway so the wind rushed past them and cooled his skin.

 _Please don’t let me, girl. Don’t you go._ The lyrics forced their way through his ribs, finding a home in his abdomen. He had been the one to leave, and though he had hurt them all (in different ways, but all hurt) he thought it was really him who was the one who could be devastated by them. That was why he’d sought out the void of nothing. Sansa could break him now, too. He didn’t want to hurt her more, but he would let himself be hurt a million times over just to get this sort of moment with her. 

He continued to watch her as she rolled her own window down, throwing a single hand out and moving it with the wind. She was striking and free. She seemed to not be concerned with anything around her, and for a moment they didn’t have to be tied to anything. 

It was just the music, and the road, and _them._

* * *

There were stretches of time—sometimes minutes, sometimes hours—where Theon forgot where they were going or what the plan was. He just knew that he was in the car, and he was lucky enough to have Sansa there with him. 

Sometimes, he forgot because it was a happy moment with singing or jokes or space free of the past. Other times because it was so easy, whether they were sitting in the silence or talking about nothing to help the time go by. 

But it was there, still, whether he thought of it or not. Robb and Jon disappeared. Ramsay sat like an ominous figure in the distance. They were driving right toward it all, even if the road was bumpy and curved. 

They bounced from town to town, always a little behind Ramsay, always picking up clues that were too cloudy to help the whole image. _Heard he killed his own dad,_ one person said, and it wasn’t surprising. It _was_ a little terrifying. 

One motel stop they were able to identify that Jon and Robb had stayed there three weeks prior. Sansa felt a bit distant after that, harder to reach, but Theon wished he could. 

He wanted to stretch toward her, breach the cavern between them, reach inside and know her completely and let her know him the same and not turn away. Not back away for as long as he was brave enough and still standing to do it. 

It felt like the distance was getting smaller, though, and that was something. Always something. 

* * *

Under the blanket of darkness, back in their separate beds and with the day washed off, became a sort of time of honesty. The barriers fell away, and they were able to ask the questions they were too afraid to when the sun was shining into all the dangerous crevices of the truth. 

Sansa: Why’d you start? 

Theon: I was sad and scared. 

Sansa: Of? 

Theon: Being alone. With myself, I think. 

Theon: How mad was he?

Sansa: Robb? [Silence] [A sigh] Mad. Furious. 

Theon: It was never really about him or you guys. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. 

[Silence][The sound of Sansa rolling over]

Sansa: He was just mad because he loves you, and he thought maybe it meant you had never loved him the same. I think. Probably. 

Theon: I did. I do, still. I always will, even if he never spoke to me again. 

Sansa: Where’d you go when you were gone? 

_Not where I should have. Not to you guys. Crazy._

Theon: Just… gone. 

Theon: Why not Arya? 

Sansa: She acts without thinking, sometimes. I love her, but…

Theon: You want someone who’ll listen to what you need first. 

Sansa: Exactly. 

Theon: What made you think I’d be that? 

[A beat][A breath]

Sansa: What makes you think you wouldn’t? 

[A laugh from him, not fully happy not fully bitter]

Theon: I was an asshole. I’m still kinda an asshole. 

Sansa: No, you weren’t. You aren’t. 

At moments, it felt as if all the conversations they were really having were between the words, the things they might not be saying. At moments, it felt as though the true honesty, understanding, came through the quiet more than the spoken things—the sudden flare of concern in Sansa’s eyes as they approached a bar, or the way she didn’t move away when he held his hand on her lower back to guide her. 

But the in-between could only last so long, the danger out of sight, before it all grew heavier. 

* * *

They were in the County Clerk’s Office looking over a deed, or more aptly Theon was while Sansa was talking to the older behind the desk nearby, when he realized the deed was in _Ramsay’s_ name. And it was still active. 

“Sansa,” Theon said. 

She didn’t turn, waving a hand as she laughed with the woman over something. 

“ _Sansa_ ,” he hissed. 

She turned fully with narrowed eyes, red hair flying around her, but as she saw the look he was giving her she softened. Then the curiosity took over feverishly, and she said a quick _excuse me_ to the woman before rushing over to him. “When did he leave?” she asked. 

He waited for her to look at him. The gaze felt like open flame against open palm, like opening and resealing and opening a wound again. It was painful. It was without lies. 

“He hasn’t.” 

* * *

When they opened the motel room door, there was only a single bed waiting for them in the room. Honestly, Theon was surprised they’d been able to go this long without it happening earlier. They both paused, purposefully did not look at one another, and then Sansa pushed past him as if it wasn’t an issue at all. 

“Are you coming, or…” she trailed off as she unlaced her shoes. 

Theon startled forward and closed the door behind him. He made his way to the bathroom first to brush his teeth and rinse off his face. When he dried off his face, he took a beat to stare at himself in the mirror. 

When he was younger, he had spent too long caring about his looks. It had been a point of pride—the perfect haircut, tanned skin—to the point of being part of his self-destruction, and when he went to rehab he made a point of avoiding mirrors. When he was high he didn’t give a shit he looked like trash. When he was recovering, he needed to focus on the inside first. 

At some point, he’d stopped caring some. He still ate well enough, and he’d go to the gym with Yara from time to time. He usually only cut his hair when Yara would pull up beside him and tug on a curl, making fun of his girlish hair with a smirk. 

He looked good, though. Maybe healthy was a better word for it. He could notice and appreciate the hard scoop of his jaw, the small smattering of freckles, eyes that held some sort of life. Would this be a face someone like Sansa Stark could look at and love? He shook his head and grabbed his things to give her the bathroom, and the two passed without words. 

The lights were off by the time she came back out, and he was huddled on his side of the bed. She moved so silently he could barely tell where she was, but then he felt all too aware of the dipping of the bed beside him. 

“Are you sure you’re…” 

“I’m fine, Theon.” 

It was strange to hear her voice this close when usually it was further. Usually they spoke with total darkness, but this near and with the strange rectangular window above their bed he could still make out the shape of her face. Holy shit, _their_ bed. 

His mind wanted to skip over what was to come next, but the _after_ when they would all be fine and alive and back to normality… or as close as they could seemingly go back to it that was, Theon liked to think on that. He thought Sansa and him could still _be_ after that. He wondered what Robb would say. How long would it take to properly prove Theon would try his whole life left to make it up to him?

“What are you gonna do?” Theon asked, suddenly, Robb still on his mind. Sansa turned more toward him, her face parallel to his on the pillow. “When you find him?” 

“Kill him,” she said, voice flat and angry. 

“Sansa…” he trailed off, brows slamming together as she watched the way the ice took over her skin, slithered into her limbs, under her skull. “I was talking about Robb.” 

Her mouth puffed into an ‘o’ though there was no sound to actually come out, and then her face was collapsing. The ice melted. “ _Oh.”_

There was a beat of nothing more as Theon watched her face with rapt attention as she took in this information, then a tear leaked down her cheek and he couldn’t just _watch._ He reached out a hand delicately, carefully, and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. 

It was like the touch broke her, cracked her like a glow stick and let all the feelings shine out. Her single tear turned into body sobs, and she crawled into Theon’s chest. He held her face to his t-shirt, already feeling the moisture soak into it. 

“He did…” she trailed off, hiccuping into the cry, “the worst…” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispered as he ran his hand over her hair. 

“Every bad thing a man could do,” she said, voice growing angrier, more solid, “he did to me. I will, I will _end_ him, I…” 

“He doesn’t deserve to breathe,” Theon agreed. He needed to stay calm for Sansa because she _needed_ him right about now, but he felt the anger boil in his own stomach. He wanted to kill the asshole _for_ her. He wanted Ramsay Bolton to not be able to touch another single person with his dark, poisonous hands infecting the lives of everyone around him. 

Suddenly, he wondered if Sansa hadn’t wanted Arya to come because Arya probably would have willingly killed Ramsay without a second thought after what he had done to her sister. Maybe Sansa wanted that all for herself. 

Killing a person, though, wasn’t a simple thing. Theon didn’t want her life ruined and pulled away from her. 

“I came to you,” she said after a particularly rough sob, catching her breath in patchy intakes of air, “because I couldn’t stand no one understanding what I’d been through, and I couldn’t stand doing this alone. I needed _you._ ”

Theon didn’t know how to respond to that without shouting he loved her, didn’t really know how to make it stop because when the sight of her looked like a hand pulling him from the darkness, but it wasn’t all about _him._ It was because she was the strongest person he knew. It was because she was intelligent and funny and didn’t put up with his shit. She was _passionate_ about things even when the world had tried to beat her back for caring about anything at all. He didn’t know how to _say_ that so he pulled her tighter. 

“Sansa…” he sighed, but it wasn’t sad or tired. It just was. “I will be here for as long as you’ll have me. As long as you need me or want me. I’ll be here.” 

Her fist in his shirt, small and tight, loosened and her head lolled into the curve of his neck. He could feel the cold of her toes against his shins. “Okay,” she breathed, and it sounded like thank you, it sounded like _always_ , but he didn’t trust his own ears. 

Her breathing was warm on his neck, and he could still feel the moisture of her tears. Their breaths seemed to match, in and out and in and out, and they fell off into sleep together.

* * *

Theon dreamt often of the sea. He thought it was probably because he held a handful of memories from his youth like worn polaroids, barely holding their picture anymore but tucked somewhere safely away. It was his mother mostly that was worth remembering. Bright eyes and ugly laughs (in a good way, the best way) and the feeling of being loved for exactly what you were. 

He did consider at times that perhaps he had always been chasing that acceptance and it was why he felt like he was missing a piece because there was no replacing her in his heart. 

Regardless, he dreamt of the sea more than anything else. When he was younger it was usually him running over the sand, dipping into the waves with his mother. After her death they’d run and run, but at some point he would turn around and she was gone. 

His teen years he dreamt a lot about him and Robb swimming as far as they could, never stopping and never tiring. The sun beat down heavy, but the water licked at their skin to keep them comfortable. 

The addiction years were foggy, but the things he did remember? Choppy. Angry. Harsh waves and harsher skies. There was a lot of drowning. 

That night, with Sansa in his arms, he dreamt of his feet at the edge of the salty water. His feet were slipping further below the sand as the water lapped at his ankles, and he brought a hand to his brow to keep the sun from blocking his view. He was waiting, he knew, though he wasn’t sure for what. 

She walked out from the waves like a deity. She owned the sea. She commanded it with her wet, falling waves of hair over her bare shoulders and her twisted lips. The sea welcomed her, but it let her go, too. She came toward him, and he waited. 

* * *

He could feel her arm around his waist and her leg between his legs when he woke up with the sun flittering over the both of them. For a second his body tensed, but then he remembered where he was and how he had gotten there with Sansa. The movement must have woken her up, though, because the next second she was staring right back at him. 

“Hi,” he said. Did his breath smell? He hoped it didn’t smell. 

“I’m—”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” 

She smiled, and he smiled back, but the situation must have hit them both at the same time because her face fell and he felt weighted with it. 

“How do we do this?” he asked. 

She told him the plan as they got ready, over breakfast, and as they loaded into the car. 

They would stake out the place first to see what sort of action was going on. They needed to take stock of where Robb and Jon were, try to find out information from the local town people on if they were there and where. _They’re the most important part,_ Sansa said in a way that sounded like it was a reminder to the both of them. 

If they could, they would follow Ramsay to make sure he was there, too. If he was, they would turn in all the information they had saved and gathered since they started to the police and lead them, hopefully, right to him. Sansa said it methodically, assured, as if she had decided with a heavy heart it was the way they had to do it. 

When they left Sansa had said a week, but they were nearly at two. It was funny how it had felt like a lifetime since Sansa had showed up at the visitor center looking like a natural disaster, and how while _none_ of what they had been doing would be deemed pleasant for anyone else, Theon wasn’t sure he’d enjoyed something quite so much since before the drugs. It was 

Sansa, obviously, always Sansa. 

* * *

“Have you seen either of these men?” Sansa asked as she slid the picture of Robb and Jon across the counter. 

It was a simple picture. So simple in fact Theon wasn’t entirely sure when it was from. Jon was in a black t-shirt, Robb in a sweatshirt, and they had their arms thrown around one another’s shoulders. The background was dark, indistinguishable. They looked happy, though, and not much younger than they probably were now. 

In a weird way, Theon sort of forgot that they all had lives since he left. That the picture that was worn on the edges, more from Sansa’s nerves than true passage of time, could be from a time Post-Theon in the Stark’s Lives. He almost couldn’t tell if his heart hurt or was at ease with the possibility of the memories they’ve made in the safety of a life without him. 

“It’s company policy,” the woman behind the counter said as she snapped a wad of bubblegum. She could have not possibly looked less interested in being there. “I can’t tell you when they were here.” 

Sansa leaned forward, eyes bright. “So they _were_ here.” 

“I can’t tell you that. Company policy,” she repeated. 

“But you just said…” Sansa trailed off, eyes narrowing. Suddenly, her lip was fluttering and her eyes were welling with emotion. “It’s just… He…” She brought a hand up to her lips, dramatically looking down at the picture. “My baby, I mean, ours, I mean…” 

The woman behind the desk’s eyes widened, her lips tilting up, as if the two people in front of her were _finally_ interesting. Her favorite soap was starting, and she was ready to watch. 

“Is one of them,” she began, eyes flashing between the picture and Sansa’s belly, “the father?” 

“One…” Sansa hiccuped. Was she always this good of an actress, or was adrenaline at being so close pushing this out of her? He felt like when you were standing in the museum with a masterpiece right in front of you, and you couldn’t quite believe that someone had painted it once and now thousands of people walked through just to see it. That you got to look at the brushstrokes in front of you. 

Or something like that. 

“I can’t,” she cried, pushing toward Theon and holding her hands over her face as she pushed into his chest.

On instinct, he wrapped his arms around her back. “Please,” he said as he turned toward the woman. “Anything you can do to help us.” 

She shrugged, eyes still wide. “All I can say is they left two nights ago.” 

Sansa turned and reached out a hand, clasping onto the woman’s arm. “Thank you. Really, thank you. Can we have a room?” 

Shell-shocked, the woman turned back to her outdated computer. Theon understood the feeling. 

* * *

Since entering the room, Sansa had fallen onto the mattress with a huff and stayed silent. Theon wasn’t sure if it would be smarter to let her be or engage in conversation, trying to let her lead (he felt, sometimes, as if he was always trying to let her lead. He hoped that was a good thing, and not an added stress on her). In the end, he didn’t end up having to make a choice because she did it for him. 

“I’m just…” she trailed off, not finishing the thought. 

Her head fell to the side, red hair spilling around her on the mattress, and Theon desperately wanted to run his hands through it. Though, also he kind of felt like a creep staring at her on the mattress as he leaned against the dresser. He went to the mattress, turned around, and let himself fall onto the bed, too. 

“I feel… stupid. And tired. And stupid.” Her head was turned away from him, and her voice was muffled by that and the way she spoke nearly into the comforter instead of the air. 

He flipped onto his side, holding his head up with his hand, and watched her in a hopefully less creepy way than before. Bringing his free hand up, he pushed some of the wild hair away from her face. After a beat, she turned toward him. 

“Why do you feel stupid?” he asked softly.

“Why did I think I could find them? I’m not my dad or Robb. I don’t have this skill set.” She closed her eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he was thinking of something or somewhere else or because she was trying to not cry. “It was stupid. Here I went again, some stupid—”

“Sansa,” he warned. He spread his palm over her cheek, consequences be damned, and paused for a second. “I can’t hear you call yourself stupid again. I can’t. You know you aren’t.”

Her eyes were wide and expressive, and Theon was pretty sure he’d willingly step right in and drown in them if he could. They looked like a comfortable sort of place for that sort of thing. A warmth. A liveliness. It was hard to remember a time before loving Sansa Stark, and he thought maybe when he was reborn as This Theon—the post-drugs, post-destruction Theon—the love he felt for Sansa and her salvation must have been stitched right into the foundation of his being. 

Loving Sansa was just hardwired into him, and he wasn’t upset about it in the least. 

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I’m actually _very_ smart.” Her voice was trying to be light, as if she was attempting a joke, but he could still see the warning signs in her body. 

The gray storm edging at her face, the cold snap of her shoulders, a clap of thunder begging just at the corner of her voice. There was so much that could cause destruction given just a little more time, the storm laying wait in the shadows. 

“Where are they?” she asked, and for the first time he could depict a dash of anger _at_ the two of them. “They were supposed to be here.”

Theon wanted to hold Sansa tight and ease the anxiety and pain out of her. He wished that he could interlace their fingers and tug her all the way home, all the way to safety. They were too close to the ground zero of something dangerous, and Theon sort of felt like he’d been walking around with the ignition the whole time. Sansa could spark something catastrophic. 

He couldn’t do any of that, and she never would have let him in the first place. 

“Let’s go stake it out,” he suggested. “Maybe it’ll give us answers.” 

For a terrifying second, the way she breathed in at the thought reminded him of the shuddering breath he would take after a hit. That feeling of doing something that hurt and healed in equal measure, or at least the illusion of both. 

Really, you think he would know an impending disaster at this point. You think he would be able to properly pick up the warning signs. Maybe if he _wanted_ to see them he could have, but instead he kept moving forward. 

“Let’s do that,” she agreed with a nod.

* * *

They waited hours before they saw much of anything. Sitting in his car, leaning far enough back, parked in a weird perch in the woods (this was _dangerous,_ truly and properly. Theon wasn’t sure why it had only hit him now), they sat and waited and watched. 

With the darkness surrounding them, finally, they saw him.

He stepped out of a low black car, and at first Theon thought he was hallucinating. Ramsay could be just about anyone, really, he wasn’t _that_ distinct. Dark features and dark hair, but he was fairly ordinary. Theon had spent a lot of time thinking about that, actually, the fact that poison doesn’t always look like something that will kill you. Sometimes, it looks average. 

Even this far away he knew it was Ramsay, though, mostly because Sansa reached out to him. She grabbed his hand, _grabbed_ with a force, and held it close to her. They both watched every step as he went into the building. Every last one. 

Then, without needing to be told, Theon backed out and took them to the police station. The files in the back held a weight of extra importance, and for a second Theon thought he might not be able to breathe until they were handed over. Actually, the feeling carried all the way to the station. 

* * *

Sansa entered the motel room first, and Theon couldn’t seem to put a finger on why she seemed so… final about this all. It made sense, he guessed, if he took the time to rationalize it. This was a big thing, something they’d been working on singularly for some time, and now it was… gone. It was close to done as long as they could find Robb and Jon. 

When she turned toward him, his own back still leaning against the closed door, her eyes focused on him with a singularity that was breath-stealing. 

“Sansa,” he said, and it almost sounded like a warning. As if they were both acknowledging the added heat of the room, and he was trying to say _This is a move you can’t come back from. I know I certainly won’t._

“Theon,” she replied, the tilt of something on her lips and in her voice. She took slow steps toward him. 

Theon was in the eye of the storm, but just at the edge of it, the dark clouds swiftly circling, and he took a step toward it. He met Sansa in the middle because he’d always be honest with her about the fact that he was good at being destroyed. Being destroyed by her seemed a nice change of pace, honestly. 

Her hands came up to the sides of his face, fingers walking over the stubble first and the line of freckles near his nose, before her whole palms held his cheeks. It was disorienting to be held and looked at by her without any barrier or excuse, sort of like a hand over an open flame. 

“Since Ramsay hurt me,” she told him, her words getting stuck in her throat but being pushed out through her force of will, “since he _abused_ me, I haven’t been able to trust a lot of people.” She paused, breathed. “I trust you.” 

“Sansa…” He brought up a hand to hold over her own. He didn’t feel like he had enough space in him to hold the wealth of those words, but he would make room for her. “I—” 

She smiled, and it wasn’t full but it felt _strong_ somehow. “He can’t hurt us anymore.” 

“He won’t touch you ever again,” he reassured. Theon wanted her to _believe_ she would be safe, happy, as long as he had anything to say or do about it. 

She tilted her head up. “Theon. Kiss me.” 

There were words on his lips— _Are you sure? Will you regret this? Really,_ me _?_ —but maybe he’d had enough of words today. He followed her lead always, anyways, so he did that now, too. He kissed her, pulsing forward with a hand of his own dipping into her locks and with his lips that didn’t know how to _be_ casual when they were against Sansa Stark’s. 

It was overwhelming because he wanted to kiss every single part of her—wanted to know what it felt like to kiss the delicate flesh of her eyelid and over the mole on her collarbone shaped like a heart. She pushed into the kiss, moving the two of them toward the bed, and he let himself bounce onto the mattress as she moved to straddle his waist. 

His hands came up to cup her ass because if she was going to _straddle_ him, give herself over to this experience, he didn’t want to do it with any limits. As his tongue ran over her bottom lip, she actually _mewled_ into the kiss. He nipped at her lips with his teeth, and in turn she ran a hand into his hair and tugged. 

“You are… _marvelous_ ,” he said as he took a breath, watching her swollen lips and the way her chest heaved to catch breaths. 

She giggled, leaning back on her heels to look down at him. “You did _not_ use the word _marvelous._ What happened to Theon Greyjoy?” 

He sat up, bringing her more onto his lap as she squealed with the sudden movement. His lips found her neck, leaving soft kissed toward her ear until he pulled the lobe between his teeth for a second. 

“He’s right here, babe.” 

“Oh, _babe_ is it?” she asked breathlessly, a sizzling whisper. She moved her hips and ground down into him, and he wished he was less pathetic and didn’t groan loudly, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“You like being in control?” he asked. It came out softer than he meant for it to, somehow. 

Her face grew tender for a moment, and she ran a finger above the line of his eyebrow before moving along his cheek bone and finding it following the bow of his lips. “I want to feel you inside me.” 

“Fuck,” he hissed, twisting them over to push her further into the mattress.

She pushed right back, twirling them until she laid back on top and could grind into him again. She raised up to pull her shirt off, and he ran a hand over the pale flesh of her abdomen, up to her breasts as he pushed the bra away. 

“A shirt for a shirt,” she told him, tugging at his own.

The clothes went quickly, then. His pants on the ground. Hers to soon join them. He savored the edge of her underwear, kissing along the lining until his mouth was right above it and he tugged them down. 

He hovered his mouth over her, pausing as she hissed out a breath to look up and meet her eyes. Her lips were a sliver open, and her face was flushed pink, and she was a vision. Her hand went into his hair and guided him down after a second of contact, a second of consent. 

He licked up her and savored her clit. If Sansa Stark really had been his salvation, he thought at the very least she deserved a bit of worshiping. 

His flingers curved into her, one finding the ridges inside and tapping at the wall until she was arching up off of the mattress to get _more._ More contact from his fingers and his mouth. He sucked and flicked, and when she came apart underneath his touch it was quite possibly the most satisfying moment of his life. 

“My turn,” she ordered after a moment of catching her breath. She pulled him back up the length of her body until she could kiss him again and bring a hand to his cock. 

“I probably won’t… Not long,” he told her. 

She smirked, and it somehow shot right to his gut again. Carefully she urged him to sit up, and then she was wrapping her legs around his back and sliding him into her. For a moment, the two of them paused with her arms around his neck, foreheads touched, him inside her. 

The movement was horribly slow at first, a pleasurable sort of death, but after a beat she picked up the pace and he kept it going. He helped guide her over him, again and again until they were both aching with pleasure. Until she bit into his neck, realizing after a beat there was no reason to hide her climax and letting her head fall back with the yell of it. 

For a while neither of them moved. They caught their breaths still wrapped around one another, feeling sweaty and warm and satisfied. 

“You’re…” Theon trailed off because he didn’t know how to find the words to describe her. Or how he could possibly translate all those thoughts in his head about her—the long poetic waxes and wanes of his heart— _to_ her. 

“Theon,” she replied in a breath as she trailed a finger along his jaw before dipping forward and kissing into his brow. “ _Theon._ ” 

He could almost imagine it sounding like something else. _I love you. You understand. I know._

He wasn’t sure she did know, but he wasn’t sure if she needed to for this moment to feel any differently. Her eyes fluttered, and the exhaustion of the day seemed to find them both like a creeping shadow. They crawled under the covers, and they curved toward each other, and Theon fell asleep with ease. 

* * *

Instantly, as he woke up, Theon knew something was wrong. He turned in the bed, and Sansa wasn’t there. It didn’t take a genius to know _where_ she was. 

He threw on some pants, and he ran out front to see his car missing. 

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” The sun was only barely beginning to crawl over the horizon. 

He started running down the road, toward her, hoping with all his heart he wasn’t too late.

* * *

His car was parked in a haphazard angle, the keys still in the ignition, in front of the building. Besides for that, there was little to nothing to denote there was anything going on in this building. The space around it was empty, and it was eerily quiet. Maybe he was just being dramatic, it was certainly something he was often inclined to be, but as he walked into the side door of the warehouse that was hanging open he felt nearly as if he was walking through layers of the past. 

It felt cold, only growing colder, and as if he was moving toward the destruction. An epicenter. The ghosts were coming with him. 

The building was tall and open, a big wide space for presumably large machines, but the eeriest part was that there was… nothing. The warehouse had a few cardboard boxes in the corner, but otherwise it was empty. Had they missed him? Had he already had time to pack up and leave? 

And what if he had the time to do that and took Sansa with him? Theon felt sick to his stomach with the thought of that poison having his hands on her. 

Slowly, the quiet of the space was taken over with a clapping sound. Sharp, quick actions of hand against hand as if this was the beginning of some villain reveal. None of it felt real, and his heart rate raced quicker. When he turned toward the sound, he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. 

Of course Ramsay was there. Theon was just happy that Sansa wasn’t anywhere in sight, and he had some hope that she had made it out or was somewhere safe. 

“I _knew_ you would have to show back up eventually,” Ramsay began. He stood a level up on the top of a bridge, ever one for a big entrance and dramatic gestures. In an all black suit—shirt, tie, pants, the whole thing _black_ —he held the railing and looked down on Theon. “Reek, Reek, _Reek._ Just… couldn’t stay away, could we?” 

His feet felt glued to the floor. Ramsay walked slowly, a predator seeking its prey, toward the stairwell at the edge of the bridge. He made a grand gesture of tutting, slinking his way forward. He didn’t seem to be in any rush, as if he still expected Theon to wait exactly where he was without the fear of escape. 

Theon did just that, though, so maybe they were both still playing the same parts.

He didn’t feel like Reek anymore, though. He felt like he was finally settled in his own bones. He was Theon Greyjoy. Theon Greyjoy who wasn’t always perfect but tried, at the very least, to be a good man. Theon Greyjoy who loved his sister with all his heart and loved Sansa Stark with all the stars in the sky. Theon Greyjoy who would happily try to redeem himself for the rest of his life if it could give Robb even the tiniest slivers of relief. 

Theon Greyjoy. Here he stood. Hopefully, he wouldn’t fall. He’d stand, though, as long as he could if it meant Sansa was somewhere safe. 

That was something that had struck him as he was running here, that Theon would gladly die to keep Sansa safe. He would die a million times over if it would give her a minute more. 

Theon Greyjoy of before might have never said that, the selfishness too keen on him, but this Theon believed it with everything he had. 

“You think I didn’t know you were following me, Reek? You think I don’t still know everything about your life?” He stood across the room from him now, hands cupped together in front of him as he inched forward. “That I don’t know you work at the Pyke Visitor Center? That you don’t spend most of your time with that sister of yours, not quite a _looker_ is she? A little too butch for my tastes. But you know—”

“Don’t,” Theon warned, gaining his voice. It wasn’t nearly as thick and sturdy as he would hope, but he didn’t want to hear it. 

Ramsay’s eyes widened in a deliciously satisfied sort of way, and he laughed with a giddiness that repulsed Theon. “What?” he asked, now only a few steps away from Theon. He paused, looking him up and down like a piece of meat. “You don’t want me to talk about Sansa? Now, _she_ is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? I mean, been there done that, but—”

“Don’t say another word,” Theon cut him off, eyes narrowed. Theon had never been all that strong, but the Starks were. _Sansa_ was. 

He could be strong for her. 

“Is she here with you?” Ramsay asked. His lips curved up sharply. “Hiding away behind one of these corners? You two didn’t really think I would let you take me down, did you? It was a cute game, but—”

“I don’t care,” Theon said. He shook his head. If he was asking about Sansa, that meant he didn’t know where she was, and Theon’s heart skipped in his chest. “I don’t, I don’t—”

“Oh, the boy still stutters. Being clean doesn’t suddenly make you a good person, you know.” Ramsay stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaning back slightly to look at Theon down the bridge of his nose. “You can do all you want, Reek, but _I_ know and _you_ know that wherever you go, whatever you do, whoever you _think_ you’ve become you’ll always be Reek on the inside. And I’ll be there, too. You can’t escape me. You’ll always hear my voice.” 

Briefly, all Theon could think of was the way Sansa had told him last night with all the confidence in the world _He can’t hurt us anymore._

Theon felt as if he was a step outside his body. 

He _knew_ he was shaking, his hands twitching, his breaths shallow and hard to grasp, but only in the most basic of ways. In the way a small child knew the sky was blue, but they couldn’t tell you the science of why. Theon could tell the signs, feel the physical changes, but he didn’t actually feel there and in his body. It was like he was only attached to it by the thinnest of lines, a rope he was holding onto if you will, and he could easily let go. 

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Sansa Stark standing on the bridge with Robb a few feet behind her. He tried to remain casual, not let Ramsay see, but he could see her red flowing hair, and the smile of an upper hand. She held up three fingers and mouthed as exaggeratedly as she could manage, _three minutes._

Theon snapped back into his body. 

“What’s your plan?” Theon asked.

Ramsay tilted his head, apparently unsure what Theon’s point was. “My _plan?_ ”

“You didn’t just start a monologue from the top of a metal bridge in an abandoned warehouse not to tell me the plan, so what is it?” Theon asked. “Are you going to kill me?” 

Ramsay smiled, then his lips pursed, and he stepped forward to grab onto Theon’s face between his thumb and other fingers. He clasped it and pulled it closer, only the barest of breaths away, and he practically hissed.

“When did you start thinking you could _question_ me, Reek. Don’t you miss me, huh? I know you have to. My ugly _pet_.” 

Theon stayed silent, and he didn’t look toward Sansa and Robb, and he tried to do one damned thing right in his miserable excuse of a life. _Just one._

“Please,” he whispered back, Ramsay’s fingers digging into his cheek hard enough to leave a bruise. “ _Please._ ”

“Please what, Reek?” His hand let go and caressed his cheek instead. It was one of Ramsay’s moves, the hot and cold. To hurt you so that you couldn’t even trust kindness any longer, but the caress, at the very least, would be softer than the pain. “Do you _miss_ me? You want to come be my pet again? Or do you want me to end your miserable life?” 

How much longer could there possibly be? Three minutes to _what_ exactly? Were the police coming? Was Jon going to swing in out of somewhere unexpected and save the day? Theon couldn’t know. Just a little longer, though, was all he had to hold on. Just a little longer for Sansa and Robb and Jon, and then the world could do whatever it wanted to him. 

He’d have made his peace. 

“Fuck. You,” he said before he pulled back just to rush forward and head butt Ramsay. 

“Wha—” Ramsay took a wobbling step back, reaching a hand up to dab at the blood that had trickled from his own nose. He looked at it for longer than Theon had expected, and then he brought the bloody finger to his lips and licked it clean. His smile was ecstatic when he looked back at Theon, and his eyes as wide as saucers. “That was _good_. No one has tried to hurt me like that in years.”

The sound of a police siren ripped through the air, sloppy and sharp. 

“ _Oh_ was _that_ how you’re going to play it?” Ramsay reached into the back of his pants, and when his hand appeared back in front of him it was holding a dagger. It was pretty, finely sharpened blade and jewels in the handle as if anything could possibly make killing pretty. 

It went quickly, the action of it all. Ramsay, diving forward and slicing into Theon’s abdomen. Sansa, screaming his name from across the room. The sound of policemen screaming. Theon fell to the floor, the world feeling slow and bleary. 

He had said earlier that he was happy to die for Sansa, and it hadn’t been a lie. Die, in whatever world in whatever way, he would do. 

For a second, though, as his body hit the floor and he could feel the ache of his stomach stretch through his limbs, he realized he might have even _lived_ for her. 

* * *

Robb leaning over the edge of his bed, young (maybe eight? maybe nine? It was hard to tell the difference in their youth), to look at Theon lying on the extra mattress on the floor. When Theon wasn’t there, which wasn’t often, they would slide it underneath Robb’s bed. Mostly, though, it stayed right there. 

“You up?” Robb asked, licking at his lips and already wearing an excitement for the summer day. A curl flickered into his eyesight, and Robb flicked it away with annoyance. “ _Theon._ ” 

“Don’t you like to sleep?” Theon replied, eyes closed, but he was already groaning and pushing up. Already willing to give into Robb’s excitement. 

“Yesssss,” Robb cheered. “ _That’s_ why you’re my best friend.” 

* * *

“Son, just…” Ned sighed. His face looked worried, tired probably, and he turned to Theon and clapped his shoulder. “Son, when you need something, it’s okay to ask for it. It doesn’t make you weak.” 

Theon, thirteen and already wearing most of Robb’s hand-me-downs despite the fact that he was growing leaner than him already and they always hung a little too long, looked at Ned in the kitchen table chair beside him. A father in every sense of the word but not with the _title._

“He wouldn’t sign. Or pay for it,” he admitted, sliding the piece of paper over to him. “He said a field trip is an excuse for pansies to fuck off for the day and a waste of his hard-earned money.” 

Ned nodded, and he picked the paper up in wide hands. “We’ll figure it out, son. Don’t you worry.” 

* * *

Sansa sitting on the front porch, legs stretched out in front of her, wearing a skirt that could only be considered decent because it was summer and she was wearing a bathing suit underneath it. “You going to go sleep with her, is that it?” she asked with a tilt of her head. 

He rolled his eyes as he plopped onto the steps next to her, checking his phone to see how far away Ros had texted she was. His hands itched for a cigarette, but he didn’t want to smoke in front of _prissy, perfect_ Sansa. Didn’t want that infuriating tilt of her head. 

“Why, you want in on this?” he asked, gesturing obscenely. “Don’t be jealous, princess.” 

She smiled in a sickly sweet way. “Gross. I need to go puke now.” 

He flicked her off as she stood up to go back into the house. She flicked him off right back. 

* * *

Sansa cheering at their graduation, holding up a sign for all three of them—Jon and Robb and Theon. Later, her sharing her ice cream with him because he hadn’t wanted to impose by getting two scoops even though he’d wanted them, and she had gotten more than enough. Passing her spoon over to him, and all the while him thinking about the fact that she would share her _spoon_ with him. That she’d share her lemon ice cream. 

* * *

Sansa, just last night, arching her back off the mattress and whispering things he would never forget, hold inside him always. Her red hair and pale skin and perfect smile. His favorite storm, force of nature, an achingly tender sort of bruise. 

* * *

Sansa. _Sansa. SansaSansaSansa._

* * *

_When you’re done being lost, and you remember you’re Theon Greyjoy, maybe you could come home._

_Come home._

“Theon!”

_Home._

“Fuck, Theon!” 

* * *

He opened his eyes, and when he looked up there was Sansa on one side. Beautiful Sansa with tears maring her cheeks and holding his hand. On his other was Robb, staring down at him with worry and concern, an anger almost, that hurt beautifully because at least Robb cared enough to feel anything for him. Theon, his best friend who once betrayed him.

“I am home,” he whispered, but the words were barely audible. Had he even said them? His abdomen had stopped hurting, actually, and from here all he could really see was Robb and Sansa’s blurring faces, and the white ceiling of the warehouse. 

“Theon, what are you saying?” Sansa asked. “Please, just, don’t…” 

“Come on, man,” Robb said, _pleaded_ really. “Not like this.” 

“I came home, I’m… home,” he said, reaching his hand up to Robb, but the hand never made it to him, falling to his own side instead. Letting the memories and the darkness wrap him up in a cold blanket, he shut his eyes. 

* * *

For the second time in his life, Theon Greyjoy died. 

* * *

And then he lived again. 

* * *

“You ate _half_ the pudding cup!” 

“Yes, and _Rickon_ ate the other half. Your point?” 

“It wasn’t yours!” 

“Oh my… it’s not like _he’s_ going to eat it.” 

“See! Jon _gets_ it.” 

Theon groaned. “Jon doesn’t get anything.” 

“Well, that proves that. Even dead Theon Greyjoy can insult me.” 

The light of the hospital room was blinding as Theon slowly opened his eyes, but the laughter of the others made it less painful. His head was rushing, and for a second he didn’t believe the sight in front of him, but it looked like all the Starks were _in his hospital room._

Holy shit, he was alive. _Alive._

And his room was full. Arya and Rickon were sharing the small, plastic chair that definitely should not fit both of them, and Bran was off in the plusher corner chair as he sat at a weird angle. Robb and Jon were leaned near the door, and when Theon looked to his left (slowly, again, because his head was still dazed and his whole body ached) there was Sansa. 

“Why are… you all…” His throat was dry, and he reached for the styrofoam cup of water. 

It was weird to have so many pairs of eyes on him. They were eyes he hadn’t seen in so long, and eyes he had thought would never _want_ to see him again. Somehow, they were all in this room together.

“You took a knife to your gut and almost died,” Sansa said dryly. “We’re going to show up.” 

“I didn’t really want to, but I’d feel like sort of a dick if I didn’t come after you took a knife to help get the fucker put away,” Jon said through a playful smile. 

Fuck, Theon had even missed _Jon._ Annoyingly dark, brooding _Jon._ Not that that was fair, since they were always the two misfits. Maybe that was what had kept them apart. They had both been vying to be part of the family, part of _something_ , and sometimes it felt like they were competing for the same place there. 

Theon didn’t want to carry that anymore. Carrying all the baggage he’d had strapped to his back for too long was exhausting, and he was done being exhausted over things he could control. There was no point. 

“He’s put away?” Theon asked. He was afraid to ask, but he needed to know. “I don’t understand what happened after you left,” he continued as he turned and looked to Sansa. “I don’t…” 

Sansa looked down, seemingly unable to meet his eyes for a beat. She looked to Jon and Robb, who were sharing a look between the two of them. 

“We’d tracked him,” Jon answered, continuing to look at Robb as if he was waiting for the assist at any moment. “I infiltrated?” 

Theon’s brows raised. “You entered willingly into his gang.” 

Jon nodded slowly. “I was an inside man. Robb was gathering the info on the outside. We wanted to put him away for good, no way the police could ignore us.” 

“It got more complicated than we hoped,” Robb said as he scratched at his scruff. “Dangerous. If you and Sansa hadn’t come along when you did, I don’t know if we would have been able to catch him.” 

Sansa nodded and reached forward, grabbing his hand. “We got him, all of us.” 

“He tried to make a run for it at the last minute,” Robb offered. “Jon got the drop on him, though. You stalled him long enough for the police to show up.” 

The relief that settled over Theon was satisfying, but honestly sort of hollow. He didn’t know what he thought would happen when Ramsay was finally gone from the world, but he supposed he thought he would have felt some sense of satisfaction. Or like there was a piece of himself that could finally properly heal, no longer tainted by him. But he’d done all of that already, and healing wasn’t a task you could check off on a to-do list. Unfortunately, it was a lifelong sort of thing. 

“That’s… good.” Theon swallowed, his throat still feeling dry and swollen. Sansa handed him the styrofoam cup again. “Guys, I’m sorry. I haven’t said it in person, but—”

“Ew, please stop,” Arya said, wincing as she did. “This is so awkward. Can’t we continue to just repress all our feelings and move forward. I thought that's what being a Stark was all about.” 

Being a Stark. In a way, every single one of them in this room was a Stark. Theon didn’t want to get emotional, honestly it was sort of embarrassing that he was, but he thought he could probably blame it on the pain and the fact that he’d almost died. Sansa squeezed his hand, and he turned to give her a small smile. 

“Where’s my sister?” he asked. “Is she here?” 

“She said being stuck in this room with all of us was painful,” Rickon answered, bouncing on Arya’s lap and elbowing her when she tried to tickle at his sides. “Think she’s flirting with a nurse.” 

“I thought she was flirting with the receptionist,” Arya replied, eyebrows pushing together. 

“Probably both,” Theon answered with a soft laugh. 

“You want me to get her?” Jon asked, seeing as he was closest to the door. 

His question went unanswered because a nurse entered into the room, her long dark hair tied off into a ponytail. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room. 

“Out! None of you are supposed to be here, visiting hours ended, and we’ve _had_ this discussion,” she said, her voice tilted with an accent Theon couldn’t place. 

“Shae…” Sansa trailed off, giving her a sweet smile. “Remember you love me.” 

“You? Maybe. Them?” She motioned her hand around at the rest of them. “Can’t say. Out. _Out._ ” 

“Can my sister come in?” Theon asked. He wanted to see her desperately, though he wished he didn’t have to let go of Sansa’s hand to make it happen. 

She gave it a squeeze before she stood up as all the Starks began wandering their way out. He didn’t want to pull his eyes away from her. She must have been spending most of the last few days at his bedside with her bed-ridden hair and blotchy skin. The way she moved a little slower than normal. 

Was it weird that he wasn't sure she’d ever looked so beautiful? 

“Of course your sister can,” Shae said with a roll of her eyes. “You can have a family member in.” 

Sansa paused, a few steps away from the door. Theon could still hear the bickering back and forth of the rest of her siblings in the hallway, the only other one still in the room Bran as he adjusted his cane to follow Sansa out. 

“We are family,” Sansa said, though Shae wasn’t actually paying much attention to it as she looked over his chart. Her eyes were solely focused on him in the first place, with an intensity he knew meant something and would continue to mean something. She bit her lip and looked away. “I’ll get Yara for you.” 

“Thanks,” he croaked out, afraid to say anything more. 

Her and Shae exited, talking in light voices Theon couldn’t hear. When he turned his eyes back forward, Bran was paused at the foot of his bed. 

“Hi,” Theon began, unsure where to go from there. 

“See?” Bran said. “A good man.” He took a step back, smiling at him in a _knowing_ sort of way. 

“So ominous, Bran,” Theon teased, mostly because if he let the emotion of Bran standing in front of him and saying that—declaring him a good man after everything Theon had done that should have made him seem anything but—he honestly thought he might cry. 

Bran held up a hand and wiggled his fingers, smirking all the while as he walked backward out of the room. “Get used to it, Theon. Welcome back.” 

“Thank you,” Theon replied, but he wasn’t sure Bran heard it. He was out of the room quicker than Theon could muster it up, but he thought it was probably pretty obvious. He hoped he _knew,_ and honestly now he might have the time—true and proper—to prove how thankful he was. 

* * *

“Gone maybe a week he said,” Yara began, shaking her head all the while, stepping toward his bed. “I’ll keep you _updated_ he said.” 

Theon winced. “I’m sorry.” 

Yara stopped and sighed, looking to the side. When her eyes turned back toward him, they looked a little watery. She cleared her throat, trying to stand tall, but as the air rushed out it seemed as if her shoulders curved in slightly. “I’m just glad you’re safe, baby brother.” 

His limbs were still aching, and he didn’t feel fully there yet with the way the pain still wracked his body (he hated having to explain he couldn’t have the drugs, how easily and dangerous it was for him to get addicted again if they gave him too much), but he used his remaining strength to hold his arm out to her. 

She stepped closer, holding onto it and curving into him. 

“I”m just glad you’re safe,” she repeated. 

“What is dead may never die,” he whispered into her shoulder. 

When she pulled back there was a smirk on her face. “And you’ve died twice. Let’s not try to make it a third, yeah?” 

He nodded in agreement. “Way too much work. Very exhausting.” 

She stuttered out a laugh that nearly sounded like a cry, but he wasn't too worried. She was smiling and looking at him with the kind eyes he sometimes thought were only for him. He felt _privileged_ to have them only for him. 

“Good,” she said. She leaned into him again before taking a step back, shaking the emotion off of her. 

He was loved, he thought. How lucky he was to be so _loved._

* * *

When he was finally released from the hospital, he was surprised to find Robb waiting in his car to pick him up. He had thought Yara was going to take him home and stay with him for a few nights as he continued to recover. 

Robb was leaned up against his big black SUV, looking like some popular boy in a teen movie as he wore his leather jacket and dark sunglasses. It shot something warm and familiar through his chest. Theon gave an awkward wave as he walked slowly over to the car. 

Without needing to be asked, Robb offered an arm the last few steps and opened the door for him. He stayed close by as Theon climbed in and sat, needing help to get his seatbelt on since he couldn’t twist easily with the wound on his abdomen. 

“All set?” Robb asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

Theon nodded, trying to keep his hands steady in his lap by clasping them tightly together. “I’m set.” He paused as the car pulled forward. “I thought Yara was going to get me.” 

“Something popped up at the bar, and I offered,” he said. “We have a whole group chat about you now. Arya very lovingly titled it _Keeping Theon Alive For At Least a Week._ I think she’s warming up to you.” 

“She loves me, she’s just bad at saying it. I’m sure of it,” Theon replied with a snort. Robb chuckled too, the only other sound filling the cabin soft music coming from the radio. Theon shifted in his seat, trying not to wince at the way his side stung. “Thank you.” 

“It’s just a ride, man.”

Theon watched his knuckles on the steering wheel, waiting for some sort of signal of anger. His body seemed genuinely at ease, though, and Theon felt like he was waiting for a sleeping wolf. Any second the fangs would reveal themselves. 

“You know what I mean.” Theon cleared his throat, anxiously ran a hand through his hair, and tried to set himself straight. “I betrayed you. I betrayed your family. You don’t have to do this, but I’m happy we’ve both lived long enough that I get to say that to you. Even if—”

“You don’t have to, what was it you told Ramsay? Monologue about it?” Robb laughed. “Gods, his face when you said that I can only imagine. The bastard.” 

Theon laughed, but he still felt the unease in his chest. Maybe he would be working through that, in a way, for a long time. Working to feel settled in a situation _he_ had unsettled. When he looked at Robb, though, he felt the familiar affection, but it didn’t _hurt_ the way it once had. It was just bubbling there, holdable, understandable, _familiar._ Familiar in a comforting way. 

“I don’t have to, but I… I _want_ to, I guess, I—fuck, I’m no good with words.” 

Robb laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. Robb wasn’t really _capable_ of being cruel in the first place. “I know, and I _get_ it. Theon I don’t forgive you. I’m still _mad_ , but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I didn’t love you either. We’re family, we fuck each other up and we have to figure out ways to apologize, but we still love each other. We’ll figure it out.” 

The opportunity to figure it out felt like more than he deserved still after everything, but Theon thought it might be past the time of being concerned with what he deserved. Maybe it was about taking what he was given and doing his best with it. 

“I can do that. I want to do that,” Theon answered. 

The car pulled up to Theon’s apartment, and Robb idled the car. “Good. I’ll be seeing you, then. Bran’s been insisting on this trivia night though he’s the only one who ever knows the answers.”

“You’re not coming in?” Theon asked. 

Robb shook his head and shot him a strange smile, one he couldn’t wrap his head around. “Nah. Someone else in there waiting for you.” 

Theon was scared to hope. Theon wanted to _get into his fucking apartment already._

* * *

“Hello?” he called. 

Sansa stepped into the open space of the frontway, wearing an apron and her hair in a bun. “You’re back,” she said. 

The three feet between them felt too long, and Theon wanted to break the space and hold her and never let either of them put it between them again. But there were things that needed to be addressed first, and he knew that. 

“Don’t leave me again,” he said. “Please. I would have come.” 

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” she said. Her eyes darted to his stomach. “Not that it helped much.” 

“It all turned out alright,” he said with a shrug. 

She shook her head in tiny motions, her eyes welling with moisture as she pursed her lips. “It didn’t, though. You… you got _hurt,_ Theon, and…” 

“I’m fine. Stronger than a knife,” he replied with a shake of the head. 

She nodded twice and took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. “You can’t leave me again, either.” 

“I won’t,” he promised. “I’d do anything to stay with you. As long as you want.” 

“Forever seems sort of nice, I think,” she replied with a soft smile. “If you have the time.” 

He shrugged, and then he stepped toward her and grabbed onto her hands. “Nothing too pressing on the schedule.” 

She kissed his lips, and nothing had ever tasted sweeter. Dying, quite frankly, was honestly sort of horrible. It was painful, for one, and you didn’t come back quite the same. Very dramatic, a lot of worry, but to get _here._ Finally, to be able to _live._

It was worth it.

He held her tighter, hands on her waist and keeping her closer. He kissed over her face, over her lips, over the crown of her forehead. He’d missed her though it hadn’t been long since he’d seen her. 

“I’m making pasta,” she whispered into the cove of his neck. 

They held each other tightly, comfortable enough to just _be_ together and feel their hearts beating against the other’s. Theon didn’t need to kiss her right now, though he would certainly never be opposed, but he wanted the reassurance. He wanted _her_ in every way, always. 

“I could eat,” he answered. When they finally pulled apart, Theon couldn’t help the face-splitting smile he wore. 

Her hand interlaced with his, and pulled him into the kitchen, and it was all going to be alright. They were going to be _okay._ They were going to live, figure it out, be happy. 

* * *

He watched her face in the soft light from beneath his bedsheet as she looked up at him through those stunning, thick lashes. She reached out for his hand and laid it over her chest. He could feel the soft pattering of her heart. 

“Home,” she said. “That’s what you meant, right?” 

He nodded, feeling his throat tighten and release as he took a deep, centering breath. “I’m Theon Greyjoy,” he told her in a delicate but sure voice. “And I’ve finally come home.” 

When she brought his open palm to her lips and kissed over the creased lines, it felt like a red felt pen circle on one of her maps. They weren’t _going_ anywhere, though, they were already there. They were going to stay. 

_Home,_ he thought, _how nice to finally be home._

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at: [anniebibananie](http://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/)  
> (it took me like two months and a mental breakdown to write this pls be gentle and offer words if you have a spare moment)


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